The Inspiration Series
by FerryBerry
Summary: S2. Rachel discovers something unique about her relationship with Quinn, leading them on a much different track than either ever expected.
1. Inspiration

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. All belongs to _Glee_ writers and creators.

**A/N:** Ha, this one was fun.

**Inspiration**

Rachel idly drummed the fluffy end of her pink glitter pen on the side of her desk, paying little mind to the teacher lecturing at the front of the room. Okay, so that was a lie—she was paying no attention. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn't let her attention stray so far (a high GPA would only serve to buff up her application to Juilliard, after all), but she had an emergency on her hands that simply couldn't wait. The future of glee club was at stake.

_I need a song for Regionals and I need it soon. I know Mr. Schuester enjoys switching up our setlist even up to five minutes until we step on stage—which, while it's no hindrance to me, as I have a variety of numbers polished to perfection in my repertoire, is rather unsettling for my teammates—this time I'd like to be prepared. So I'm going to blow everyone away…when I finally write something._

_Ugh, there's nothing to write! They say 'write what you know' and my life is a 'suckfest of boring' to quote Santana. Still…Finn was right. If I can write a fantastic song and present to everyone—without admitting that I wrote it, of course; I can't risk turning them off to it before they even hear it—it'll prove that original songs are the only way to win against the Warblers. They have Kurt, for crying out loud. Really, our club should know better than to underestimate them - especially with him in their arsenal. I won't risk losing Regionals this year._

_So I need a song._

_Quinn is wearing a blue headband today, how cute. I prefer the red or black in her hair for purposes of contrast, and yellow is actually quite complimentary to her coloring—hair, not skin; pastels are often too light for the pallor of her skin—but baby blue suits her quite nicely as well. I wonder how many she has. I only have a few for emergencies when my hair is - oh, my God! Quinn Fabray, you're a genius!_


	2. More Inspiration

**More Inspiration**

It wasn't like Rachel read it on purpose. Honestly, it would have been near to impossible not to notice for anyone who happened to be sitting next to Quinn Fabray in History class while the aforementioned girl jotted down the assigned homework in her daily planner. And thanks to the first name seating arrangement, she was. It helped that she was yet again letting her attention stray to that ever-so-irritating problem of her unwritten original song and, incidentally, her writer's block.

While her first attempt had gone approved by Brittany but abruptly rejected by Finn, Rachel had come to realize that a song about headbands may not have enough…oomph for a regional competition. So she was yet again on the market for a new idea, which led to quite a bit of pen-drumming and mind-wandering, which inevitably drew her gaze to the capitalized, bold, and underlined proclamation etched beneath Saturday on Quinn's daily planner: 'CONNIE VISITING!'

It took Rachel approximately thirty seconds to figure out who it could possibly be referring to before it hit her.

_Constance Fabray, former: head cheerleader, president of the celibacy club, class president, valedictorian, Homecoming Queen, and Prom Queen of William McKinley High School. Quite a bit of pressure for a younger child to live under, I would imagine. Perhaps that's why Quinn finds herself sharing more traits with the 'average' older child—responsible, reserved, hard working—than the youngest. The pressure to be as good as, or better, than a sibling must be dreadful, and it can't have helped when she found herself pregnant. Stupid Noah._

_I do hope Quinn has managed to maintain an amiable relationship with her kin, though her homelessness last year and the lack of hearts around that reminder, which honestly looks more like an enormous 'Danger Ahead' sign than a signal of excitement, would suggest otherwise. Still…this visit could be the opening for reconciliation between Quinn and her sister. The semi-recent betrayal by their father in the form of his unbelievably hypocritical affair might offer some common ground for them to bond over, to return to a closeness they had when they were younger._

_Or at least I hope they shared._

_I should've liked to have a sister to fight and bond with when growing up. Perhaps then I wouldn't be so—oh, my God again! Quinn Fabray, you brilliant, gorgeous girl, you've done it again!_


	3. Even More Inspiration

**Even More Inspiration**

Rachel was nervous. It was a perfectly natural emotion, of course. She, Rachel Berry, was about to approach and speak to Quinn Fabray. She had every right to a churning stomach and clammy hands over this, particularly considering their last conversation—the one that crushed her hopes for that gleaming offer of friendship she'd been so certain awaited just beyond the success of their co-written original song.

But this was Rachel Berry, and hope, while it was capable of being momentarily flattened, often rose back up with a blinding and somewhat frightening intensity, higher than ever before. It was what she was riding on as she strode up to a sour-looking Quinn at her locker, stuffing books away for the afternoon before the journey home.

"Quinn," Rachel said firmly, and the addressed party jumped visibly before pinching the bridge of her nose in annoyance.

"Rachel…" She sighed behind her hand, dropping it moments later to level a tired stare down at the diva. "I'm buying you a collar with a bell."

Rachel's mouth twisted in consternation. "I can't imagine that would be a pleasing solution to anyone. I was under the impression that most people believe I already make too much noise; a bell would hardly do anything to dis—"

"Did you want something, or did you just come over here to give me an early heart attack and make me wish I was deaf?" she cut in, eyebrow arching high.

"Oh, yes. There is something of great importance I need to tell, and hopefully discuss with, you," she replied, straightening as she got back on track.

"Okay…" She gestured impatiently for her to go on.

"Over the duration of my search for the perfect original song to perform at Regionals, a curious pattern has come to my attention that simply could not be ignored and, after a great deal of research and reflection on the topic, I have come to the conclusion that you are my muse."

Quinn blinked.

"You see, I was able to fully compose a total of three numbers in the time since our first vote on the matter, and each and every one was inspired by you. 'My Headband' should be quite obvious; you're wearing one now. 'Only Child' was spurred by the glimpse of a notation in your planner about your sister's upcoming visit, and 'Get It Right', well, it's been the greatest triumph of my teenage career, next to 'Don't Rain On My Parade', and I owe it all to you and our admittedly tense discussion in the auditorium. It's quite clear that thoughts of, and especially interactions with, you enable me to tap into my creative well and it is precisely that that has led me to my aforementioned conclusion. You are my muse."

Quinn took a moment to lick her lips and blink again. "Um…okay…"

Rachel beamed. "Excellent! I feared you would have more difficulty accepting this information." She cleared her throat hastily and, not allowing Quinn a moment to interject, went on seriously. "Now, here is the part I would like to discuss. Seeing as you are my muse, I am going to be needing you around for the length of my undoubtedly legendary career. My early estimate on this is the next forty years, give or take, given that I intend to write my own musical following the demise of my ability to star in one of my own."

Quinn's eyes went wide, but she didn't interrupt.

Regardless, Rachel raised what she hoped was a calming hand. "I know what you're thinking, and I have taken your own life plans into consideration. I know you'd hoped to settle in Lima with Finn to raise a family, but there isn't any reason you should limit yourself to Finn Hudson anymore than I should—there are many other fish in the sea, as they say, and there are approximately four million fish, er, men for you to try in New York City. Eight million if you choose not to limit yourself because of gender! And, if it's really what you want to do, you can always become a real estate agent in New York. As for Lima, I know it's home, but honestly, the name Quinn Fabray is far too large for a town this small." She nodded and smiled, pleased with her reasoning.

Quinn, however, was shaking her head disbelievingly, cheeks flushed with embarrassment—Rachel could tell it wasn't anger because she wasn't meeting her gaze. "Rachel, I couldn't…I can't…I mean, New York is…but I can't aff—"

"Oh, how silly of me!" She hastily dug one of her folders from the stack in her arms and pulled out a thick stack of papers, which she promptly handed over to a puzzled Quinn.

"What is this?"

"Scholarships you are eligible to apply to. I know you prefer not to think about it, but I even found a few for currently or formerly pregnant teens—you wouldn't believe the amount of support there is for those who are or were in your predicament in some communities! I also took note of your talent for art, beyond the evidence in the girl's bathroom around the corner, and took the liberty of notifying your Drawing II teacher that you may need to send selections of your work to a few scholarship committees for review. You are very talented, Quinn; I was awed by your sketches. And I am aware that we're only in the spring semester of our junior year, but early applications impress colleges. Besides, the earlier you start, the more scholarships you'll be able to rack up! Oh! And I also checked around for part-time jobs and discovered a convenient double opening at the local Olive Garden. If you were interested, of course, we could get a start on saving extra for your own college fund—I'm sure your mother already has one set aside, but if it's been depleted by the divorce, then not to worry. With Olive Garden's good pay, we'd have it filling back up in no time." She grinned.

Quinn was staring at the heavy stack in her pale hand with an expression Rachel was finding impossible to read. It was only when she took a shaking breath and the light caught a glistening wetness in the corner of her glittering hazel eyes that Rachel realized—and instantly went on alarm.

"This is, of course, all with your approval. Though I admit I'd be at a terrible loss without my muse in the future, I'm sure I'd make do, so if you feel inclined to decline, I will under—"

"Rachel." Her jaw snapped shut when Quinn met her eyes dead on, her own sparkling with unshed tears she refused to let fall, and reached to grasp Rachel's free hand with hers. She stared, startled by the contact, and then gaped when Quinn's face suddenly transformed and she wore a smile. A real one. Rachel blinked. "Okay."

Her jaw opened and shut again, an answering smile threatening at the corners of her mouth. "Really?"

Quinn dipped her chin, smile never wavering. "Really."

Rachel squealed. "Excellent! Of course, there is much planning to be done for our future partnership as muse and artist, but first I believe we should cement and celebrate it with a duet for glee club, yes?"

Quinn squeezed her hand and flashed a grin, saying only, "As you wish."


	4. More Than Inspiration

**More Than Inspiration**

_'__Q: So you've been living with the up and coming artist Quinn Fabray for?_

_A: Five years now. Yes, we did our dormitory duties at our separate colleges for two years, but we always planned on moving in together._

_Q: And how is that?_

_A: [laughs] Well, as long as she doesn't dribble paint on my vinyls, we're usually good._

_Q: You know, a lot of fans out there say you draw a lot of your inspiration from Ms. Fabray._

_A: Yes, that's true. I owe everything to [Quinn]. She's the reason I'm where I am today. She's my muse. [laughs]__'_

It was the same question in every interview. Rephrased, perhaps, but Rachel always gave the same answer with the same confidence in her voice, no hint of hesitance to be found. Quinn had looked. The girlish laughter always echoing the statement 'my muse' was no indication of insincerity, either. It was their inside joke, their little private game. It made Quinn feel special somehow, as Rachel had been managing to do for the past eight years.

Quinn let a smile ghost over her lips before glancing across the apartment she'd inhabited with the diva for the last five of those eight years, eyeing the aforementioned girl contemplatively. Her knees were tucked up to her chest where she sat on their plush green couch beneath an amber lamp, a thick stack of white resting there as she read and reread the lines she'd memorized a week ago, mouthing the words with her plump lips. Her brow tightened a smidgeon every time she thought she'd forgotten something, smoothing back into a slight wrinkle of concentration only seconds later. Quinn couldn't help but smile now.

She never thought she'd be able to take this much of Rachel Berry. Even after that overwhelming day when Rachel first told her she was her muse and therefore intended to keep her around, she thought she'd only get by through the depths of her gratitude. Which would likely fade within a few years. Or so she'd thought.

The truth was, that day was the best thing that ever happened to Quinn. Rachel became not only her savior, but her best friend, her confidante, her own personal cheerleader. Quinn soon couldn't get enough of the girl she considered to be her first true friend aside from Mercedes (as evidenced by the fact that she was over at the diva's dormitory every morning with coffee, muffins, and apartment listings tucked under her arm as soon as January hit). It also didn't take long for Quinn to discover that when Rachel Berry was your friend, there was nothing she wouldn't do for you. And it made Quinn feel as though there was nothing she couldn't do. She was certain it was that confidence and happiness Rachel inspired in her that led her to where she was today—opening her own art gallery tomorrow evening.

And it was this thought that led Quinn to her surge of bravery as she strode away from the balcony window, tossed the magazine to the coffee table, and kneeled before the still-concentrating Rachel, chin resting comfortably in the dip between her knees, while her hands busied themselves rubbing up and down the sides of her thighs.

"Rach?"

"Mm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

Rachel's brown eyes finally settled their full attention on the blonde nestled against her legs, and she quickly set aside her script.

"Yeah, of course. What's up?" She smiled encouragingly, and Quinn took a bracing breath, sliding her hands to the tops of Rachel's thighs now in her slow massage.

"Well…" She cleared her throat, eyes fluttering when Rachel tucked a strand of stray hair behind her ear in a comforting gesture. "We live together." Quinn spied the confusion in brown eyes a mile away, but Rachel only nodded, sensing her need for silence. Quinn smiled gratefully. "We cook each other meals; we argue when we run out of toilet paper; we leave sticky notes to let each other know our schedules; we have dinner dates. We usually end up sleeping together, whether it's on the couch after a movie or because we were too lazy to go across the hall. I've come to every one of your performances; I'm always your plus one at events; you come to all the open houses and events I want to go to." She swallowed, licking her lips, and breathed deeply. "I haven't had a date in five years; you haven't in two. Between my paintings and your shows, carpet walks and interviews, we're popular enough now to have fan pages on the internet that think we should just admit our undying love for each other and come out of the closet. We touch each other all the time. I mean, whether it's hand in hand, a hand on a hip or a shoulder or whatever…I can't stop being near you, touching you." Rachel blinked uncomprehendingly, her head cocked at such an angle that Quinn knew she was listening, just not understanding the point. She blew out an exasperated breath. "Rachel, we're a married couple without the perks."

Thick lashes batted over brown eyes rapidly before Rachel's pink lips formed a nearly perfect 'o.' Quinn's stomach dropped and she ceased her ministrations on Rachel's thighs, but she didn't move from where she was tucked so close to her roommate's warmth.

"Oh," Rachel finally verbalized. She shifted her position slightly, eyes darting down to the script at her side as her fingers repeatedly rifled through the pages. "Quinn, I…I'm so sorry we haven't discussed this before. Did you…did you want to get married?" When her eyes met Quinn's unbelievably wide ones, she hurried to correct herself. "I mean, obviously you won't want to this instant, you just said you haven't dated in five years. Ha-have I been taking up too much of your time? Have I made it impossible for you to, as they say, 'get out there'? I'm so, so sorry if I have, that was never my intention, but of course you wish to move on, start a life and a family, how silly of me to think that you would want to stay here with me an-and—for the rest of your life, that's utterly ridiculous; I-I understand if you want more time to yourself to-to date and find someone else—I mean, someone—after all, I am turning 25 this year, which was my 'deadline', so perhaps we should both—"

"Rachel!" Quinn sighed, shaking her head at the morose-looking, but now-silent, girl. "That's not what I'm saying. You're missing my point."

Her brow crinkled, but her body relaxed the slightest bit. "What are you saying?"

Again, she sighed heavily, bracing herself as she renewed her strokes along Rachel's thighs, dipping beneath now to rub her calves and brush the more sensitive flesh of the bottom of her thighs. She was rewarded with a soft, repressed whimper. "I'm saying…that even though when you first told me I was your muse and offered me a way out of Lima, I thought you were crazy. But I figured out…you were rescuing me. I'll forever owe you for that."

"Quinn, it was the least I could do, after everything you've—" She hurriedly pressed a finger against plump lips, effectively cutting off yet another ramble.

"Let me finish," she ordered sternly, and when she was certain Rachel would obey, she smoothed the pad of her finger over her bottom lip before returning her hand to her legs and beginning again. "I'm saying that even though I thought I wouldn't be able to take a few months of you, let alone forty years, now I'll never get enough time with you. I'm saying that while I may be your muse for creativity, you inspire me to be better in everything I do. You're more than just inspiration for me—you're everything. I'm saying that while there might be eight million other fish in the sea of New York City, the only one I want is sitting right in front of me."

Unsurprisingly, Rachel's big brown eyes were filled with unshed tears, but she made no move to wipe them away as she asked quietly, hopefully, "Really?"

Quinn smiled, reaching to squeeze her hand, and said simply, "Really."

Rachel's knees dropped from beneath her chin, and before she knew it, her arms were full of a little diva and her lips were—finally—being ravished by a plump, heavenly pair that disappeared only moments later, eliciting a growl of disappointment from Quinn's throat.

Rachel beamed. "I love you, Quinn."

A ghost of a smile traveled over her lips. "I love you, too. Now get back here," she said mock-sternly, and promptly tugged Rachel back to where she wanted her.

_Oh, my God! Rachel Berry, you've just 'inspired' me to conveniently forget the date of your birthday. Congratulations, you're 25 three months early. I need a bed…_


End file.
